The Legend of the Wandering King: Sayf's Story
by Mayna Kit
Summary: In the book, The Legend of the Wandering King by Laura Gallego García, Sayf's story was not known to the reader except by small conversations. This is his real story, of how he grew into the man he is now.
1. Chapter 1

"Amir! Amir, wake up!"

My eyes wide in panic, I bolted awake, to find my mother watching me anxiously with a worried expression. She relaxed a little, seeing I was awake, and rested her cold hand on mine. "It was just a dream," she whispered. "Only a nightmare."

"No Ammi," I said, remembering. "It was a memory." _Abbu was saying goodbye again. In the palace, and he promised he would come home soon, right after that prideful prince released him,_ I wanted to say. But I knew better than to push my mother. She was a strong woman, even now when the prince ruined our lives together. But she had her breaking points too, I knew. I rose and began folding my thin, worn blanket and laid it on my cot.

Ammi busied herself sweeping the dirt floor furiously. She murmured softly, "Your father will come back soon. We shall see him, after he has completed the impossible tasks of that jealous prince." She turned herself to face me, catching my eyes with her golden ones. "In this life, for one of us, remember to never shirk hard work, Amr. If your hands ever turn white and soft, remember to work them, and work them _hard,_ not like that prince."

I chewed my lip, hesitating, unsure of whether to tell my mother the unpleasant news. "He is king now Ammi," I said gently. "I saw it in my dream." _He can do anything he wants now, with no one to stop him._ I added silently.

Instantly, my mother's face darkened, and she began sweeping even more furiously, clouds of dust rising from the floor. "See if the goat has any milk to give."

"Yes Ammi." But I hesitated, standing in the doorway. "I saw… I saw something else in my dream." The words suddenly flew in a rush out of my mouth. "Ammi, Abbu came home."

She glanced up, her eyes softening a little. But her mouth stayed pressed in a worried line. "The goat," she reminded me patiently.

I hurried to obey her command, grabbing a tin bucket, and walking out of the hut to the simple, lean-to shelter for the goat a mile away. I milked whatever I could get out of her thin body, and hummed to keep her calm. Briefly, I wondered if I would get the time to visit Shaddad, my best friend and closest neighbor. He had been good friends with both my brothers, and we spent our spare time together, brewing up mischief whenever we could. He was currently training me how to use a sword, and I loved it. My thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the goat. She bleated and threw her hoofs against the wall, nervous. I moved her away from the wall gently, and peeked into it. Through the large, ragged holes in the goat's shelter, I suddenly glimpsed a slow movement, and the sound of shuffling footsteps.

My humming abruptly stopped, and my heart skipped a beat. No one came around al-Lakik if they couldn't help it. Al-Lakik, the poor town, the nowhere land, my older brothers would say. People coming here, to the barren land of the desert hills only meant bad news. The only person that ever came here was Shaddad, and he always came on a path through the sand dunes.

I pushed away the bucket and ran, as fast as I could towards my home, my mother. As I ran, I passed a camel and a man dressed in worn clothes, slowly leading the camel by its rope. The camel led a cart containing a white bundle inside. The man looked up suddenly as I shot past and called out, "Oh boy! Do you know the family of… of Hamm-" His words faded in the rushing wind of my ears as I ran.

I had but one thought. _Ammi… Ammi, Ammi. I must protect my mother._ Abbu had left me in charge of her, I knew that from what he had told me with his eyes, when we parted years ago. And now I must not disappoint him. I ran on and unable to stop my speed, flung open the door, tripping over the weaving my mother had been working on. My mother was startled, and she got up quickly, running her eyes up and down me. "What is it? What happened?"

"There is… a camel… coming now, here." I panted. "We must leave… Now Ammi."

Wordlessly, my mother walked slowly to the doorway and gazed at the path. I knew that by now she could see a small figure slowly climbing the dirt road. "Ammi, we must go," I urged. "Abbu told us-"

"Abbu is not here anymore, Amr. It is now only you and me."

I stared at her, speechless. "But… Ammi. The camel had the sign of the royal palace. That means that the prin- that the king is after us."

My mother did not answer. Instead, she watched as the figure on the road became bigger and bigger. "Bring me my shawl, Amr." I looked at her hard, and brought it. She wrapped it around herself and returned to her weaving corner on the floor. But she did not weave; she simply sat. Waiting. I sighed, knowing this was her battle. I would do as she wanted, even if Abbu would not approve. I sat at her feet and rubbed her cold hands, warming them.

Finally, a loud knock sounded on the wooden door, and we both rose. But she opened the door. The same man I had passed not twenty minutes ago, stood, with the camel's rope clutched in his hand. He cleared his throat, and looking at us nervously, asked, "Are you…" he peered closely at an old, torn piece of parchment, "…the family of Hammad ibne al-Haddad?" He glanced up quickly.

"I am his wife," Ammi replied in her patient tone.

"I have a… a package for you. A gift." He gestured with his hand to the white bundle. "From the king himself," he added proudly with a grin. He went around to the cart and beckoned for us to come. We did.

Ammi realized a split second before me what it actually was. Who _he_ actually was. She gasped loudly and uttered a gurgling sound, running back into the hut. I stared in horror at the figure outlined by the white sheet. "Abbu!" I screamed, throwing myself at the man trying to pull off the cover. "Don't touch him! He is my father!"

The confused man shook his head. "No, you think the king sent you…" He suddenly became silent as he too, realized in horror that the wrapped white bundle was in the shape of a human being. He paled and stuttered, "I thought… I didn't know… the king…"

"You carried him all this way and didn't know what was in there?" I asked in an icy tone, angry.

The man sputtered again and I calmly pointed to the camel. He was soon riding off as fast as the poor beast could go. I ran inside to check on my mother. She was lying on her cot, sleeping. I decided not to disturb her and ran back out to my father's body. I didn't want to look at him. I carried Abbu's body to the backyard; he weighed less than me. _What did the king do to you, Abbu?_ I thought mournfully. But I would not look. It took me a few hours to dig the hole and lay him in, and then bury him. Tears were falling from my eyes but I couldn't stop.

I needed to help my mother, and soon. I was her only support. I wished dearly that my two older brothers were here to help me with this. But not even Ammi knew where they were. They had all set out to make a future for themselves, with the gold Abbu had won from the poetry contests that king had held.

There was a soft click behind me, and I whirled around to find Shaddad, my best friend, watching me. "I thought you might want some help," he explained apologetically. "I saw… the camel… It passed my home." He sat down and offered a covered basket of chicken eggs. "For your mother." I took it gratefully, murmuring my thanks. He just smiled sadly and nodded, studying his bare feet. I knew he had walked a whole five miles to get here, and I felt thankful to have him as my friend.

We stayed that way for a while. I wiped away the last traces of my tears and breathed deeply. I glanced at my friend. His jet black hair was ragged, his kurta and shalwar were dirty and had patches where there weren't holes. He was tan and strong, only a few years older than my age of sixteen. Shaddad was the only person who knew of Abbu's fate with the king. I only trusted him, and I knew he had instantly figured what had happened when he saw the camel.

"One day," I said breaking the silence. "One day, that king will pay. And he will regret this. I will make him." Shaddad rested a big hand on my shoulder. "There is a better way." I waited angrily for him to say more, but he wouldn't. He rose, and walked back to where he came from. And I suddenly realized something. My father had promised to come home. And he did. He did come home to me, to Ammi.

My mother after that was never well. We were often starving, and a month after Abbu had died, my mother passed away. I remember squeezing her hand as she lay on her cot. And I remember her warning me against revenge on King Walid as she lay on her deathbed. "It will do no good; you think that the craving inside you will be satisfied, but you are wrong. It will only cause regret, my son."


	2. Chapter 2

Shaddad visited me again after my mother died, and when I asked him about the 'other way' he mentioned before, he said, "I am going to leave home soon. Find a decent workplace. Abbu and Ammi are fine, with all my other siblings to look after them. And they want me to have some experience and pull my own weight for a while, get a feel of the world. You should come with me. We will work together."

I teamed up with my friend, and we went in search of work. One day, we came upon a band of bandits, sleeping among the sandy dunes of the desert. Shaddad and I were cautious to pass without waking them, but suddenly, a foreign tribe began closing in on them, hungry for land and water. We called for the bandits to wake. They did, but were caught by surprise, heavily outnumbered, with no way to run. Shaddad and I only glanced at each other once, and plunged together into the midst of the battle, fighting for the bandits. The bandits were able to hold off, and soon they had their horses untethered and were running for their lives. The leader of the group, Nazm, pulled me onto his black horse, and signaled for another bandit to pull Shaddad onto his horse.

We had saved the bandits' lives by arousing them, and for that they were grateful. Nazm had punished the sleeping sentry gravely for neglecting his duty. He then invited us to join his band, and we both agreed. When he asked our names, I told him, "Sayf, my name is Sayf." He smiled and nodded, accepting it. Everyone knew of course, that my mother hadn't named me 'sword,' but no one objected. Similarly, Shaddad changed his name to 'Shajar,' literally meaning a tree.

Our band lived by the honor code of bandits, and Nazm was proud of that. We only killed the able bodied men who were dangerous to us, threatening us. We were told to always protect the women and children, even if they weren't our own. We could not steal from the poor, only the rich, and we took as much was needed, distributing the rest to those in need. I began to feel happy again and satisfied with my life. Nazm, Shaddad, and I were the best of friends, we trusted each other with our lives.

One day, our band woke up to find Nazm, our beloved leader, and Shajar gone. They had disappeared without a trace. We searched for them thoroughly, but the band decided that a new leader be put into place temporarily, until Nazm came back. No one was more surprised than I when the people voted for me. I realized that my experience of spending so much time with Nazm and Shaddad was one reason all the men were looking up to me. Other, bolder candidates wanted a fencing challenge, but I refused, claiming that one does not fight his own people.

We still had our weekly raids of treasure, always retreating into the secret oasis that was our hideout, but we were having to go further into the country of Kinda in order to pick good findings. The king of Kinda was going mad, we had heard. When my scout had reported this bit of news to me, I replied with a grim smile, and said simply, "Good then." It was no coincidence that our raids in those times were planned near the very heart of King Walid's palace.

My band grew stronger, larger in number, and fiercer, bolder. We were not afraid to go out raiding in the daytime anymore, we were a powerful force that sent chills down the spine of King Walid. I knew that, deep down. And I immensely enjoyed it. Later, I had many different scouts reporting the same thing, the king was dead, his kingdom fallen. Kinda was no more.

It took time for me to digest that fact. The jealous king had gotten exactly what he had deserved. But somewhere inside me, I felt disappointed. I came to realize what my regret was: I had not killed the king with my own hands. Ammi would have been disappointed in me, for thinking like this. But I knew, that if I ever had the chance to confront Walid, I would have made him pay to my family, for killing them off, even though Ammi had forgiven him long ago.


	3. Chapter 3

After a few days we heard the news, I decided to go raiding by myself, and I found something very strange. A man lied unconscious in the middle of the desert in his nightshirt and no provisions. I wondered at how he could have survived for so long. Likely, pure madness was driving him on. I carried him on my horse back to the oasis, where the members of my band met me. Curiosity urged me to bid the healers to treat him. The man finally woke in a cool night, where he lay in a tent. That night, I sat, gazing intensely at the flames, remembering Shajar and Nazm. How would they react to this foreign man?

He came walking out of the tent, silently, moving closer to the fire and settling down beside me. We sat like that until he broke the silence. "Thank you for saving my life."

"It was nothing." I answered.

We were silent.

"Why did you do it?"

I turned my head sideways and looked at him. "To tell the truth, I was curious. I wanted to know what a man was doing in the middle of the desert barefoot and dressed in his nightshirt."

He seemed to redden slightly, and did not meet my gaze. "It's a long story. The truth is that I made most of the journey on horseback."

"A white horse, that you left dead more than five days from here?" I shook my head in wonder. "It is still quite a feat. Tell me my friend, is someone pursuing you?"

He seemed to think for a moment, but shook his head. But his eyes shone at a new idea. "Have you by any chance came across three men carrying a carpet?"

"In the middle of the desert?" I laughed.

"But this is an oasis…"

"A secret, lost oasis, my friend," I corrected him. I felt my eyes flash protectively. "They call me Sayf, and you've come to the spot where my people and I rest during hard times."

A flicker of what I thought was recognition passed across his face. "I am al-Mail-al-Dillil, the Wandering King."

I laughed again, heartily. "You've been sick a long time, my friend! There are no kings anymore. King Walid of Kinda was murdered some days ago when the Banu Asad attacked Dhat Kahal and set fire to the palace. No on survived. Nothing is left of the kingdom now; each tribe has gone back to its own territory, and no one rules over anyone else."

"You mean he was assassinated?"

"At night by treason, from what I've heard. But not even he could have saved the kingdom from the Banu Asad. There were too many of them, and they were helped by dozens of smaller tribes. About time too – Kinda's been going to ruin for years."

Malik closed his eyes and rested his face in his hands. He was pale, and seemed suddenly burdened by what I had informed him. I knew who he was. Or what he was once. I said, "I see the news has affected you. I thought perhaps you were a survivor of that massacre."

Malik seemed to accept that he was caught. He lifted his head and asked, "Now that I know your hiding place, are you going to kill me?"

I gave him a look. "You seem like a strong and sturdy sort of man." _Indeed, as sturdy as Shajar once was_. "Do you know how to use a sword?"

"Whenever you want, I can show you."

I laughed again. "I like that. So, seeing that you have a dark past, and that I have just saved your life, I'm going to make you a generous offer. Join up with us."

"I can't," he replied at once.

I set my jaw, my eyes suddenly grim. "You have until dawn to think it over, _Malik,"_ I said with a hint of mockery over his name. We both knew it was not real. Just as a mother does not name her son 'sword,' she does not name him 'king.' "If you decide to join our company, we'll take you in like a brother. If not, I'll abandon you in the desert just as I found you. Fair enough, don't you think?" My tone became icy and harsh.

Malik rose and walked off into the trees, to think probably. I knew he silently agreed. I had offered him a life; my part was done. He needed to make the decision. He would be a valuable addition to our band. I could see glimpses of his intelligence, experience, and sadness in his eyes, qualities useful to me. When he came back into his tent, I was waiting there. He had done some deep thinking, and as he met my gaze, I knew he would stay. I smiled and clapped him heartily on the back. And the real adventures of my bandit days began.


	4. Chapter 4

Malik loved being part of us, anyone of us could tell. He was a brave warrior, never one to hesitate when jumping in battle. I respected him, and grew to love him like a brother. He saved my life once, in a battle against another tribe, and this strengthened our bond. We would never be apart for long, whenever the other needed us, we were there, for each other. We often went riding in the night together, most of the time, not saying a word. I realized he was dearer to me than Shajar or Nazm ever were.

After a year had passed, one night we were riding together as usual. We were both doing some deep thinking, when Malik let out a barely audible sigh that caught my attention. "What are you thinking about, Malik?"

"I was thinking about poetry."

I made a face of disgust. "I don't trust poets. They're full of jealousy and lies."

"Not all of them," Malik replied. "Even though I know why you say so."

"Poetry is a terrible weapon in the hands of an unscrupulous man. As the poet says, 'A wound from the tongue is like a blow from the hand.'"

"You speak against poetry, but you quote from poets to do it," Malik observed.

"As I child, I wanted to be a poet," I admitted. "My father composed beautiful verses, and I wanted to learn from him. But I came to know a poet who was crueler than the bloodiest thief."

"You did?"

I nodded. "He killed my father. He subjected him to terrible tortures. His body arrived home in a cart like a load of cheap goods, led by a servant who didn't even know what he was carrying, He was in horrible condition, like someone who had spent a long time in prison. My poor mother died of sorrow."

I should have noticed Malik tense up, but I was too busy relating to him about Walid. I continued, "And all of this was done by a man who called himself a poet. He was jealous because my father had proven himself better in a competition.

Malik couldn't help but stare at me with what I mistook for growing interest. I plunged on, determined to convince him how cruel poets were. "The gold my father won in the contest was meant to offer my brothers and me a better future." I recalled. "In my case, it was useless. After my mother died, I became an outlaw to fight against King Walid and his men. I was sorry to hear he died, because then I couldn't kill him with my own hands."

Malik, I noticed, had turned very pale and was quiet. He asked calmly, "What is your real name, Sayf?"

I shot him a piercing look. "No one who knew has lived to tell."

"I know it." Malik said quickly, pulling the reins of his horse to bring it closer to mine. "You are Amir ibn Hammad, the son of the carpet weaver of al-Lakik."

I pulled back hard on my reins, and my horse snorted. My eyes flashed. "I see that my father's story is not unknown in the place you come from." I said coldly.

Malik looked at me with a fierce yearning, dismounted with a leap, and threw himself on the ground. "Kill me," he said with a choking voice. "I killed your father."

"You're lying, Malik. King Walid killed my father." I said, my voice hard.

"I _am_ King Walid. I'm the man you are looking for. I imposed terrible tasks on your father, and he accomplished them every time. It was my fault that he died exhausted – I forced him to spend all his genius on a carpet, one extraordinary carpet…"

It dawned on me that Malik – Walid – was actually speaking the truth. I unsheathed my sword without taking my eyes off of him. "It's you, you traitor! You've changed a lot! And I took you in like a brother!"

"Kill me," Walid breathed. "I don't deserve to live. Kill me and put an end to my cursed life."

I raised my sword, and he waited, but I slowly lowered my weapon. "First, tell me everything." I said hoarsely. Walid was honest; he told me everything I didn't know. My father's patient work as a historian in the archive, how he had imposed on him the task of weaving a carpet that contained the whole history of the human race, and how he had accomplished it, first by losing his mind, then his sight, and finally, his life. I listened, astonished and wide-eyed. "He…accomplished it?" I asked in wonder.

"He did," murmured Walid. "Your father was an extraordinary man and I'm a miserable wretch to have destroyed him."

"You said you offered him his freedom and he refused it."

"I offered it to him too late. Too late…"


	5. Chapter 5

Walid went on to tell how he had hidden the extraordinary carpet, neglected his rule over Kinda, and exiled Hakim; how Hakim had come back to steal the carpet, and how Walid had fled in search of him.

"Now you know," he concluded, "what a man like me was doing in the middle of a desert, barefoot, and wearing nothing but a nightshirt."

I didn't answer. I was shocked to find my very best friend was actually my worst enemy. "Kill me." Walid pleaded. This man was crazy. But I had to believe him. I had to face the truth.

I turned towards him. "I ought to do that," I said slowly. "and I would have had I known who you were. But now I know who you are, and you're not who you say you are."

Walid opened his mouth to protest, but I held up a hand. "I knew Walid ibn Hujr, and he was a vain, egoistical, and cruel prince. But you are Malik, the _suluk (bandit)_ – brave, generous, loyal, and above all, a man of honor."

Walid looked at me but did not understand. I knew that he could see I believed his story, and he felt confused. "I might be Malik the _suluk_ now, but before I was Walid ibn Hujr, the prince and king of Kind," he said. "I can change my name, but not my past. I was Walid ibn Hujr, and I committed terrible crimes. I killed your father, and I deserve to die for it."

"What you say is true," I agreed. "Believe me, I don't lack reasons to kill you. Still, something stops me from raising my sword against you: You once saved my life. For that, I am in your debt."

"You saved me first," Walid objected. "We are even now."

"I didn't do that out of friendship, and I would have left you where I found you if you had not decided to join us. I know what I'm saying. That time I saved a stranger, but you saved Sayf the _suluk,_ just as I'm sparing the life not of a stranger, but of Malik, or Walid ibn Hujr. And now, yes, we are even according to the code of honor." I sheathed my sword. "Still, that does not mean I'm going to forget your story. I Sayf, say this to you: There is no place among you in the _suluk_ any longer."

I could see from the way his face fell, that for Walid, this sentence was worse than death, but I stayed firm.

"What must I do, then?"

"Go and do what you will, but know that if we ever meet again, I will show no mercy to the man who killed my father."

Walid was silent a moment. "I understand," he said quietly.

Neither of us spoke as we returned to our camp. Walid began immediately packing, not even stopping to bid farewell to the other members of the band, who were sleeping. After he mounted on his horse, he turned to look at me one last time. "I am happy to see that Hammad lives on in you," he said.

I had not a reply. Mixed feelings of sadness, rejection, compassion, hope, and pride rose in me, but I stayed silent. Walid knew me well enough to understand this. He turned, and without a word or glance back, sped through the oasis, galloping his horse as fast as it could run. And I was left behind, with a missing piece hard to ignore. But I had made my decision. And watching Walid disappear, I know two things. That I cannot reverse this decision I have just made, and there will never be a man like Walid in the whole world, from the past, in the present, and to the future. I had been with this man for over a year, the same I had sworn revenge over.

THE END


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